Goodbye, Mr Holmes
by purplelover188
Summary: Irene Adler has to go to England after reading the news about Sherlock Holmes... Rated T for later chapters. Angst. Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes
1. Unexpected News

I walk through the streets of New York. I have been living there for almost two years now. The street is not crowded because it's early in the morning. I am trying not to go out too much when it's crowded. I might be recognized. I can't risk that. The weather is quite nice. There's sun but also wind. Perfect weather. I like the sun. In England it wasn't often sunny. But I still miss England. With these thoughts in my head I continue walking. The wind is blowing through my hair which is now a dark blond. God, I hate this colour. I really miss my old brown hair. I look through the big sunglasses which are covering half of my face. I make my way towards the newspaperstand where I go almost every morning.

"Good morning, Ms." The seller says cheerfully.

"Good morning." I say very flatly. I have tried to get rid of my accent since I came to America. It wasn't easy but at the and I was able to do that.

I take the newspaper from the seller and see the big title on the front page. I am shocked. I feel my vision getting blurry because of my tears. No. I can't be sentimental. I take a quick glance at the title once more:

"Famous Detective Sherlock Holmes Found Dead in His Flat in Baker Street, England"

Note: This story was going to be a one shot but I decided to divide it to chapters. That's why this chapter is really short.


	2. A Plane Ride To England

I don't remember how I ended up here. But I'm sitting on one of the seats in a plane which goes to England. I am trying to convince myself that I am not going to England because of sentiment but I need to see it with my own eyes.

I need to see if the greatest detective on earth is really gone. He faked his own death once. But this time it feels real. He didn't jump off of some building. My face wrinkles as I remember the details of the article. It said he died because of brain tumor. It said when he was diagnosed with it, it was already too late and he only had weeks to live.

What an awful way to die for him. For someone who values his brain more than anything. Watching as his brain slowly dies and there's nothing he can do about it. With these thoughts my vision starts to get blurry once again. The tears are threating to escape my eyes. I quickly blink a few times.

I don't want anyone to see I am crying.


	3. 221B Baker Street

The plane lands. I quickly get out of the airport. I don't have to wait for luggage because I didn't take anything with me. It was a quick decision. Stupid and sentimental one. I shouldn't have come here. Am I letting my feelings get the best of me? I take a cab. As the cabbie asks me to where I want to go words spill from my mouth. "221B Baker Street."  
The thoughts continue to occupy my brain while I'm sitting in the cab. I look through the window. It's raining. That's a typical weather in England but I still feel like the sky is also crying for him. Like the weather somehow resembles my mood, my feelings. As I watch the rain pouring down the Sky and washing the windows of the cab one question lingers in my brain: "Why do I care?"  
The cab arrives at Baker Street. I get out of the car. I'm nervous, I'm angry because I still feel a little bit of hope. I can't be that naive. I know he is dead. But still I can't kill that little bit of hope inside of me. I ring the bell. A few minutes later an old lady opens the door. She is the landlady, I remember her. She looks at me as if she tries to recognize me. I am worried that she will realize who I am. Than I remember; we have never met. I don't know her too I only know that she is Sherlock's land lady. She is probably thinking I am weird for wearing sunglasses while it's raining. But I realize she doesn't even looking my face. She doesn't care who I am. She just looks sad.  
"I want to see Mr. Holmes, I am one of his clients." I say for the sake of not giving away my real identity.  
She suddenly looks a lot more sadder. Her eyes filled with tears. "Didn't you read the newspaper?" She says. Almost accusing. "He died."  
With these words the little hope inside me brokes into million pieces. I am so stupid. Such an idiot. How could I think that he is still alive. That he is sitting in his flat, healthy, solving cases. I am once again so angry with myself for my stupid hopes. My eyes start to fill with tears again. I am glad that I have sunglasses on. Mrs. Hudson looks at me with almost sympathy.  
"Are you sure you're only his client?" She asks.  
I nod. I am scared that if I speak my voice will tremble, or the words won't come out of my mouth at all. I wait for a few seconds.  
"Do you know where they buried him?" I ask. Trying to keep my voice as straight as possible.  
She looks suspicious as she answers me. I thank her as she closes the door. I found another cab and tell him where I want to go.  
I'm going to visit his grave. Another bad and terribly stupid decision.


	4. The Graveyard

I step out of the taxi a few minutes after it stops. I was frozen. I am so not ready to do this, so not ready to face it. The tomb in which the famous detective Sherlock Holmes lies. I am not ready to see it. Even though it was what I came England for. To visit the graveyard. I am looking like a ghost. A pale, worn face. A body without a soul. I walk between the graves, looking for his. I pray that it isn't there, I pray that this isn't real. I pray so hard for this even though I am not religious. But then I see it. A stone that has Sherlock Holmes written on it. And everything loses its meaning. It feels like time froze. It feels like I am going to faint. It feels like I am not even there. I grip the rose I bought for him tightly. The thorns hurt my fingers but I don't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing does. I come closer to the grave. Just staring at it blankly. I am not sure about what to do. I don't know how long I stared at the grave. I am so numb. I feel tears running down from my cheeks. Dropping on the ground. Dropping on his grave. I get out of my trance when I realise tears aren't the only thing that's dripping. There are drops of blood on the ground, on his grave. I am confused for a second and then I realise I am still gripping the rose and the thorns are still digging into my palms. I feel a sharp pain in my hand. With that I loosen my grip and put the now bloody rose on his grave. There are lots of flowers from his friends, family and even some of his clients. He is -was a well-known man after all and I know that even though he was often rude to them a lot of people admired him. Loved him. Maybe some more than the others. I am lucky that no one else is here. I sit down beside his grave. The ground is wet from all the rain but I dont mind that my clothes got dirt all over them. Although it isn't raining right now, I can feel a storm coming. I put my head on his gravestone and just sit there for a while, unsure about what to do. Then for the first time, I let myself cry. I cry and I beg and I scream and I shout. I am not exactly sure what am I saying. I am probably cursing him for leaving. For leaving his family, for leaving his friends, for leaving this world, leaving the people who need him, for leaving - me. I shout until my voice goes away. My screams echo in the empty graveyard. Returning to me after hitting the stones. I rest my head against his tombstone. I dont know how long I stayed like this. Probably until I ran out of tears to shed. Then I pull myself together. "We never had a chance to have dinner, did we Mr. Holmes?" I am trying to be sarcastic but I can't manage it. My voice cracks mid-sentence. Tears fill my eyes once again. "How could you do that? To all of these people? To me? To us?" I start to cry once more. I thought I didn't have any tears left. But apparently I was wrong. I don't even remember the last time I cried so much. "I loved you." I whisper. So quietly that even I can hardly hear myself. But I said it. It is the first time I ever admitted this out loud. I didn't even admitted it to myself until now. I guess deep down I always knew. Since the day I first saw him. But I chose to ignore that feeling. I denied it. Even after I change my password with his name. Even after he saved me from dying. I told myself it wasn't love. But it was. It always has been. I tried to convince myself. And I did it pretty good until I read his death on the newspaper. I told myself that love would make me weak. I told myself it was a disadventage, I quoted him on that. I told myself to not be sentimental. But I am still here anyways. I am still going to do what I came here for. This time my voice is louder. I am not scared to admit it anymore. "I loved you. I loved you, Sherlock Holmes. Hell, I still do. I would do anything for you not being dead. Or to be with you again. In fact, I will." I open my bag and take out a gun. I knew I couldn't carry a gun in my bag while I was travelling with a plane so I found one when I arrived England. One of the street rats gave it to me exchange for some money. I didn't have enough money so I ended up trading my favorite necklace for it. Not that it matters anyway. I hold the gun in my hands. Its weight gives me a weird comfort. I am supposed to be scared but I am not. It will give me a chance to reunite with the man I love, if the afterlife exists. I don't believe in these kind of things but if there is a slightest chance I am going to take it. If it doesn't exist, well, I don't want to live knowing he is dead anyways. I put the gun under my chin. "It's funny how love makes you do crazy things. I wasn't even ready to admit my feelings just a few days ago. Now I am willing to die for you. I will die for you. Maybe you were right. Maybe it is a disadventage. But there is nothing I can do to change my feelings at this point. I am sure you would laugh at me. You would say I am an idiot, call this a human error. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am an idiot. But if it takes to be an idiot to do this, I will gladly accept it." Tears are still running. I make an attempt to laugh but it just comes out sad. "The reason I left England was to protect myself. I was trying to survive. Now I returned here to commit suicide. Isn't that ironic?" I try to smile but I can't. I swallow hard and place my finger on the trigger. Just before I pull it, I whisper quietly; "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."


End file.
